Maddison Winchester: Journal 2 {Supernatural}

14 Born Under a Bad Sign: Part 2

It started to get dark on our drive. We didn't know exactly where we were going. We were just hoping to jog Sam's memory. The problem was Sam was staying quiet throughout the whole drive.

"What's going on with you, Sam? Hmm? 'Cause smoking, throwing bottles at people, I mean, that sounds more like me than you," Dean said.

Suddenly, Sam perked up and pointed down the road. "Dean, wait, right here. Turn down that road."

"What?" Dean asked, suddenly braking.

"I don't know how I know. I just do," Sam said.

Dean turned down the road, and we passed several private property signs nailed to trees along the way. Eventually, we pulled up in front of a large house with tons of emergency lighting and security cameras outside.

"Whoever lives here, I'd say they don't like surprises," Sam said.

Dean nodded, and then we got out and walked up to the front door.

"Should we knock?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. I guess."

Dean knocked on the front door while Sam walked over to one of the windows.

Sam shined his flashlight over the window. "Hey, Dean."

As Dean and I walked over, we could see that the window ledge was covered in shattered glass.

"I'm surprised the cops didn't show. Place like this you'd think it'd have an alarm," Dean said.

Sam continued walking around the corner of the house. "Yeah, you would."

Once Dean and I caught up, Sam was inspecting an alarm that had been tampered with on the side of the house. We walked back over to the opened window and climbed through.

As we walked through the house, the whole thing was trashed and covered with broken glass and furniture. In a backroom, we came across a body on the floor.

"Hit the lights," Dean said.

Sam flicked the lights on as Dean knelt beside the body. He placed his hand on the body and turned it over, revealing a middle-aged man with a deeply slit throat.

Dean put his hand over his mouth. "Maddi, look away."

I didn't say anything, but I didn't feel the need to turn away either.

"Dean, I did this," Sam said, horrified.

Dean shook his head. "We don't know that."

"What else do you need? I mean, how else do you explain the car, the knife, the blood..." Sam listed.

"I don't know, man, why don't you tell me?!" Dean asked, frustrated. "Look, even if you did do this, I'm sure you had a reason, ya know... self-defense, uh, he was— he was a bad son of a bitch, something!" He patted down the body. "He doesn't have any ID."

Sam looked around the room. "I need your lock-pick."

Dean turned. "What?"

"I need your lock-pick," Sam said again as he walked over to a double-door closet.

Dean stood up and handed Sam his lock-pick. Once Sam picked the lock, he opened the doors and revealed a wall covered in firearms, charts, and newspaper clippings.

"Holy..." Dean looked into the closet in awe. "Either this guy's a Unabomber—"

"Or a hunter. Dean, I think I killed a hunter," Sam said.

"Let's find out," Dean said.

I turned to see Dean looking up at a security camera in the corner of the room.